Just Add Eye of Newt
by InSpaceYoghurt
Summary: Young Sherlock Holmes is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry the same year when the Golden Trio arrive and face dangers and perils. It is also the year Sherlock first meets John Watson, Molly Hooper, Jim Moriarty, and Irene Adler. To his surprise, the unexpected adventures the Golden Trio face might not be as unexpected as the one that Sherlock has to face.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - None of these characters in either series (Sherlock and Harry Potter) belong to me. Also, I do quote directly from the book, ****_Harry Potter and the Philosipher's Stone, Chapter 4, page 51. _****Also, this first chapter is more of a teaser for the story than anything, so I am sorry that it is short. Anyways. Hope this sparks an interest for this story! :)**

"Sixty four, sixty five, sixty six-"

WHAP

"Sixty seven, Sixty eight-"

WHAP

"Sixty eight – SHUT UP WILL YOU?"

It was nearing the end of summer and Sherlock Holmes was ready to go back to school. He had spent his summer days mostly indoors, working on lab experiments that included counting very specific amounts of water drops or the measuring the precise circumference of a rat's brain, which was what Sherlock had been working on all day.

Unfortunately, for the now eleven year old Sherlock, his family didn't see summer the same way he did. Mummy Holmes had been outside gardening while Mr. Holmes worked on fixing one of the flower baskets. As for Mycroft, Sherlock's older brother, he just acted like his usual pessimistic self either correcting Sherlock on things that didn't need to be corrected or telling on him for 'taking a dead rat in his room' or 'staying in his room all day'.

Sherlock didn't see the problem with staying inside and why everyone else wanted to do useless things like plant roses and watch them grow. What good would a rose bush do? The only purpose a rose could be served as something to burn. Maybe even use as a weapon to hit your annoying big brother with. Actually, maybe those roses did have a value to them.

WHAP

"SHUT IT!" Sherlock yelled angrily. He had enough of this racket that his family had been making all day. He has had to recount three times so far because his family couldn't resist making their unpleasurable ruckus outside.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES!" Sherlock could hear the muffled voice of his mother from outside. "YOU HAVE STAYED IN THAT ROOM LONG ENOUGH! COME OUTSIDE AND GET A LITTLE SUN!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes from underneath his clear goggles that covered his face. _What sun? The sun was already setting. There was no point to it now. _

Nevertheless, Sherlock reluctantly slipped his goggles off, his slender body inching his way down the steps and out the door and despite the sun falling, his blue eyes were unpleasantly greeted with and intense amount of light he was not used to seeing. Squinting his eyes, he put his hand over his forehead and looked around to see if anyone was there when he heard a sudden flapping noise rapidly grow louder from behind him.

Spinning around, he saw a great owl swooping down heading straight towards him. Ducking just in time, the grey bird made its way over Sherlock and perched itself on the nearby mail box. There Sherlock watched as it cocked it's head at him and made small chirping sounds. It's large yellow eyes were wide open and staring directly at Sherlock, but perhaps the most peculiar thing was the large envelope it carried in its black beak.

Carefully approaching the bird, Sherlock stepped nearer and nearer expecting the bird to take flight. But it didn't. Instead, it sat on the mail box tilting his head at Sherlock. Finally close enough to the bird, he took the letter in his hand as the bird gently let go and flew off into the sky.

Sherlock turned the parchment coloured envelope over, staring at a green and gold wax seal with a crest imprinted in it.

"To Mr. Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock mumbled to himself, but his attention was drawn away too fast from the beating steps of Mrs. Holmes.

"Sherlock, dear," she said. "I was about to drag you out of that room of yours, but it looks like you made it out yourself." The plump lady gave a warm smile, but Sherlock only frowned.

"Don't flatter yourself, mum," he grumbled. "I was only here to get the post," he said, holding up the unopened envelope.

"What on earth do you mean?" Mrs. Homes asked. "It's Sunday, dear. No post on Sundays." Then she looked at the peculiar envelope and reached for it, but Sherlock pulled it away. Mrs. Holmes shook her head. "Sherlock!"

"What?" Sherlock asked. He was already turned around and headed for the house.

"Where did you even get the letter?"

"I dunno. It was from a bird," Sherlock put it simply, even though it sounded absolutely insane. Then he made his way back in the house and to his messy, unorganized, and cluttered room. Somewhere safe from his mildly irritating family.

Throwing himself onto his unmade bed, he opened the envelope up and pulled out a nicely folded letter. Stretching his hand over the yellowing parchment, he read the emerald green letters aloud:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards.)_

_Dear Mr. Holmes,_

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_ Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_ Yours sincerely,_

_ Minerva McGonagall_

_ Deputy Headmistress_

Thousands of questions seemed to explode inside Sherlock's head, one of which being; what in the hell did I just read.

A couple minutes after of sitting on his bed staring at the letter he soon called out, "MUM!"

_What in the bloody hell did he read?_

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer - I do not own any part of the Sherlock or Harry Potter Franchise/Series. All ownership and rights goes to the creators of Sherlock, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the lovely J.K. Rowling and WB Studios.**

**Also, I do quote out of ****_Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone, _****Chapter Five (Diagon Alley), page 69.**

**A/N - I hope you enjoy this chapter. I managed to squeeze in a little time to update this story and have so far enjoyed writing it. Please remember that I do not live where the story is currently taking place so the difference between words (like color and colour) might be inconsistant as sometimes I can't spot all of the errors (stupid American brain). Anyways, please do enjoy. Comments/Reviews are always lovely! :)**

Chapter 1 – The Truth

"Sherlock! Keep up or you're going to get lost," Mycroft said sourly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he caught up with Mycroft as they walked down the busy streets of London. There didn't seem to be many people on the streets and Mycroft was forgetting that Sherlock had already memorized the map of London. At least most of it.

"Turn here," he said sharply, taking a quick turn.

"Mycroft, where are we going?" Sherlock asked.

"Can't you just shut up for a minute? Just a minute is all I'm asking. No wonder mum doesn't mind you going off to boarding school."

Sherlock gave a frown but continued to follow his older brother. "You still didn't answer my question, and also, on account she let you go to this school first!"

Mycroft let out a sigh at that. He was exhausted trying to keep Sherlock to shut up about the whole situation, and unfortunately for him, he would have also had a burden to carry if Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had decided to come with them. The last time they had gone to Diagon Alley it took a whole hour just to get through one store. Mycroft simply didn't want to take the time to explain _everything _to people who would never fully comprehend what magic truly is.

Hopefully he wouldn't have the same problem with Sherlock, but he found that hard to believe because it took a full two hours to explain to Sherlock that magic is real. For some reason receiving a letter that literally explains that you are going to a school for magic isn't enough to convince someone like Sherlock that they aren't going insane.

-Yesterday-

There seemed to be an ongoing silence that stood in the room until muffled footsteps rushed to his room. Sherlock sat on his bed in his cluttered room, trying to decide whether the letter was some sort of cruel prank one of the kids at school decided to send, or if he was just losing his mind into vast emptiness.

Maybe Mrs. Holmes was right, that is, about staying in his room all day. Maybe counting the exact measurement down to the millimeters wasn't such a good idea to do. Or perhaps, maybe it was because Sherlock was as truly insane as everyone had told him.

The door swung open, but Sherlock had no reaction other than staying in the same frozen position he had been in when he finished reading the letter. His eyes were glazed over like a glass marble and his hands shaking in the slightest.

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Holmes stepped into the room, a slight look of disgust falling unto the old woman's face as she looked at the piles of dirty clothes and the smell of something burning. Trying to step over the mess, Mrs. Holmes walked over to Sherlock who she saw frowning and staring at her with his cold blue eyes.

"Explain." It was the only word Sherlock said, holding out the green inked letter in front Mrs. Holmes.

In response, Mrs. Holmes shook her head, trying to grab the heavy parchment, but Sherlock ripped his hand away.

"Sherlock Holmes!" Mrs. Holmes raised her voice. "Give me that letter!"

For a moment, Sherlock just stared at the woman, trying to figure out the best response to that. He wanted answers, and to get answers there has to be sacrifice.

"Fine," Sherlock mumbled shoving the papers into Mrs. Holmes' hand.

"What am I going to do with you?" She huffed, sliding a dark pair of glasses up her nose, but the second she saw the address, her gaze lingered to Sherlock.

"Well?" Sherlock asked. "What the bloody hell is it?"

"Language!" She scolded shaking her head and pointing a finger at the boy.

"Oh just sod off and tell me what and why I got the bloody letter."

Mrs. Holmes crossed her arms. She was about done with Sherlock's behaviour, but right now seemed like the wrong time to decline any sort of information because it seemed that she had no choice but to tell Sherlock the truth.

Sherlock looked up at Mrs. Holmes, waiting for a response as she tried to formulate the best possible way to explain this to him. See, when Mycroft had gotten his letter, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes didn't know that magic had even existed.

When they sent him off to school, they simply explained that Mycroft was being sent to Petrichor's Primary Boarding School, which wasn't a real school to begin with. However, explaining to a boy who's mind only can comprehend the most logical of things, both the Holmes' had figured it would be best to not talk about it.

Sherlock had believed his parents too, not questioning why Mycroft was being sent to a boarding school and he was not, which now, seemed extremely idiotic of him not to question it.

"Sherlock, you and your brother seem to be, special," she said gently, still trying to let her mind find the right words to explain.

"Well that's rather dull. I was hoping for something that I didn't already know," he groaned. "I already know I'm special."

Mrs. Holmes rolled her eyes, but then took a deep breath. "Sherlock, the truth is, this Hogwarts place, they accepted your brother too because – well for whatever reason, the two of you can do... magic."

"Magic doesn't exist and nor do heroes, so please save me the time and despair and tell me if I'm insane or not," Sherlock simply put it. His words were light, but he seemed to be aggravated.

"Insane?" Mrs. Holmes stared at the child for a bit. _Insane? Perhaps it was she who was going insane because as of now, she wasn't exactly sure what to do. _

"I suppose you aren't asking me what insane means, so let me just say that you can send me to whatever mental facility 'Hogwarts the made-up' school is, and I will be on my way."

"Sherlock! You are not going to a mental facility? Who in the world told you that?" Mrs. Holmes asked, now a little irritated.

"Doesn't it seem like the most probable solution for the mysterious school? I mean, you did say I was special, and magic is real, and quite frankly I don't believe you." The dark haired boy looked up at his mother with an expressionless face until a voice drew their attention away from each other.

"Mother is not insane."

"Mycroft," Sherlock sneered. Only he could make his brother's name sound like a bad word.

"Although," Mycroft added, "It wouldn't be so far fetched if you were." The taller and older boy lingered in the hallway.

Mrs. Holmes gave Mycroft a dirty look but turned back to Sherlock. "I think it would be best for your brother to explain this, to you," she said. Glancing around the room again and sighing, she swept past Mycroft telling him to, "be good," before she left.

Sherlock just pushed himself further against the wall as he stared at the letter.

"Well?" Mycroft asked.

"Well will you tell me what the bloody hell is going on, because for some reason everyone thinks they have to lie to me." This time Sherlock frowned and continued to reread the parchment.

"Well, brother mine, you seem very oblivious then," Mycroft said. "Because we are not lying to you. I wouldn't lie to you," Mycroft said.

"Oh Mycroft, brother mine," Sherlock mocked. "That was a very poor example." Looking up at his brother, he smiled until something small and heavy hit him in the head.

Swiveling around, he looked to see that one of his small lead balls he had been measuring earlier had somehow hit him.

"Ow," he said with a late response, but before he could say anything else, he watched another one of the balls float up into the air.

In astonishment, Sherlock slowly slid off his bed and looked at the shining sphere. He slowly placed his hands around the sphere trying to figure out how it was levitating.

"Well?" Mycroft's voice was full of boredom.

"Well what?" Sherlock asked as he kept examining the floating ball.

"Of for the love of God, Sherlock!" Mycroft said, storming in his room, not caring if he stepped on any of the litter on the floor. "This is magic. I am doing this!"

"Well of course your bloody doing this! It's a good magic trick too, I suppose you'll have to show me eventually before I figure it out and spoil it," Sherlock said, giving a wry smile until the object came whizzing by his head nearly knocking him.

"What the bloody hell did you do that for?" Sherlock asked, but realized quickly Mycroft's point. "Oh. Your actually being serious."

"Well of course I'm being bloody serious! You – you incompetent dimwit!" Mycroft said angrily.

-Present-

"Sherlock!" Mycroft said angrily, pulling his little brother by the arm.

"Mycroft! Let go!" Sherlock said trying as hard as he could to resist the strength, but Mycroft soon let go when they came to a seemingly empty pub. All of the busy people walking down the streets seemed to ignore it completely, and Sherlock could understand why. He too, had to look at it a second time to realized that beyond the dark and shabby windows there were actually people inside.

Then realizing, maybe the rest of the people couldn't see it. No one seemed to notice it except the two of them and as they drew closer to the building, people seemed to brush by them without noticing there were two boys wandering around a pub.

"Why are we at a pub, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked.

"Look up you dimwit."

Sherlock did as Mycroft said and looked up at a rusting black sign. At first it looked completely blank, but after a couple seconds, faint gold letters swirled upon the black sign.

"The Leaky Cauldron?" Said Sherlock, tilting his head.

"Yes, yes, come on," Mycroft said, tugging on Sherlock's shirt.

The inside seemed to resemble the outside as the inside seemed just as grubby and run down. It was dimly lit as the only lighting came from dim candles and a lit fire that seemed like it was dying, but despite the looks, the feeling of it somehow felt homey. Soft chatter filled the room along with laughter. In the corner a couple of ladies sat eating what resembled sandwiches and near the bar a couple of people sat enjoying their lunches.

The bartender gave a slight glance at the two of them, but then looked down and continued to wipe down the counter with his rag.

Mycroft continued to pull Sherlock along, but what stopped them was a sudden silence in the room. Neither Mycroft or Sherlock had noticed that anyone else had come in, but turning around, Sherlock could see an extremely large man with great curly beard and large hands. But it wasn't him who everyone had been staring at. It was the young boy who stood in front of the giant.

He had circular glasses and wore an overly large shirt and pants. He seemed to be just as confused as Sherlock was as he stared at all of the people in the pub.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at the boy, "is this – can it be?

Everyone continued to stare at the dark haired boy. He looked no older than Sherlock, and what Sherlock couldn't see, at least not yet, was the lightning bolt shaped scar that hid behind the boy's messy dark hair.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter… what an honour."

Hurrying from behind the bar, he rushed towards the boy, Harry and seized the boy's hand, and tears seemed to gleam in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back," said another from in the crowd that had formed around the boy.

"Come on," Mycroft whispered pulling Sherlock away and lead him to a brick wall above a trashcan. Then, carefully taking out what he called his wand, he tapped the bricks in a certain order, three times, and right before Sherlock's eyes, the wall began to open up as the old bricks peeled away.

"Woah," Sherlock said looking as the wall finally disappeared. There he stood at the entrance of a narrow ally with a sea of people scooting past each other. Abnormally shaped buildings seemed to line the street, most of them looking like shops as people hurried past one another with bags and other small items.

"Well then, Brother Mine," Mycroft finally said with a smile. "Welcome to Diagon Ally."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer - I still do not own Sherlock or Harry Potter. All rights go to it's creators (Moffat, Gatiss, Rowling).**

**A/N - Thanks for the positive input. I think I will end up changing some of it later as I think the flow of the story could be better, but other than that. I have found some extra time between my studies, so I hope to be updating some of my other fanfics by tomorrow. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this. Comments/Reviews are always lovely.**

Chapter 2

The day was long and tiring, and before he knew it, Sherlock had gotten all of the supplies he needed for this new school. His favourite part of the whole process was finding his own wand; A twelve inch, vine with a phoenix feather core.

Of course, it had taken many tries to find Sherlock a wand that didn't end up with an exploded light bulb or broken window, but when he had gotten this wand, his wand, he felt a strange attachment to it.

Sherlock had also bought many books. Some about magical history and others about wand lore. It was all great, and Sherlock had an amazing time in Diagon ally, but for some reason, he wanted to know more about the boy he had saw in the pub.

Everyone wanted to greet him and praise him, but why?

Over the next few weeks of the summer holiday, and September the first arriving very soon, Sherlock had read almost all of his books twice, making sure to make notes and attain as much as the information as possible.

Sherlock actually found that most of his school books were very interesting. Not at all like the books he had to read in primary school. By September the first, Sherlock had learnt all of the vocabulary and basic magical logic that most of the other kids who grew up in wizarding families knew.

Packing his things, Sherlock unclipped a small ticket with gold letters written for King's Cross station, in London. He had pinned it to his bulletin board as he counted down the days until he would finally get to go to Hogwarts.

Mycroft and he would walk down to the station as they didn't live all too far from central London, and board the train together, though Mycroft had made Sherlock promise that he would find his own place to sit on the ride there. Mycroft didn't want to entertain Sherlock for the whole ride to Hogwarts, so instead, Sherlock would have to find a cabin of his own.

Arriving to the platform, pushing his cart along, Mycroft showed him the secretive passage to Platform 9 ¾, which looked exactly like all of the other platforms at the station except it had a large black train with 'Hogwarts Express' written on the front of it.

Pushing his way past many of the people, he got aboard the train, finding an empty cabin away from Mycroft, just as he had promised.

Settling himself in, he watched as the train started to move and families waved their last goodbyes to their kids. Usually he would be extremely joyful his parents weren't butting into his business and saying soppy goodbyes, but a small part of him wished they were there, like all of the other families were, just for the sake of normality.

Sherlock must have spaced out for a couple minutes because by the time he had looked around the cabin, he saw another boy sitting across from his own seat.

The boy had dirty blond hair which was neatly combed and wore a tan knitted sweater with a collared shirt underneath it and blue jeans. He too had been looking out the window until he noticed Sherlock's cold stare.

"Er, hello?" the boy said.

"Hi," Sherlock said lightly.

There was a bit of silence and awkwardness that rested between them for a couple of minutes.

"Sorry," the boy eventually said.

Sherlock raised a brow.

"All of the other cars were full. I tried to ask if I could sit here, but you didn't respond. I assumed it would be alright," he said lightly.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, it's alright."

There was another short bit of silence until the other boy stretched his hand out in front of Sherlock.

"Sorry, I never introduced myself," he said. "I'm John Watson."

Sherlock wearily took the boys hand.

"Sherlock Holmes," said Sherlock, not exactly sure what to think. If anyone was the absolute worst at interacting with other human beings, it was Sherlock Holmes, the most socially awkward kid.

John didn't really take the weak handshake personal. Instead he smiled and looked out the window again to see a great field rushing past them.

Sherlock examined John. He looked older than Sherlock but not by a great deal, maybe two or three years. He kept his wand to the left of him meaning he was right handed but used his left hand more than a normal right hand person would. His body looked more of a soldier stature compared to Sherlock's slim body type.

"Excuse me."

Both Sherlock and John seemed to jump at that. At the door of the car they saw a girl dressed in black wizard's robes, her hair frizzy and behind her stood a taller dark haired boy with a long face.

"Have any of you seen a toad? Neville here has lost his toad, Treavor," she said pointing to the boy.

"Sorry," said John. "We haven't seen him."

The girl sighed, but before turning around she shook her heads as she looked at the two other boys. "Also, before I leave, I should tell you two that we're about to arrive at Hogwarts, so it would be best for the two of you to find some robes," said the girl, and before running off she mumbled to herself, "Why are boys such idiots?"

"Do you know who that was?" Sherlock asked.

"I dunno. A first year," said John.

"Hmm," Sherlock said.

The girl with frizzy hair was right, because soon after changing into some black robes like her own, they quickly came to a stop and arrived at their destination.

All of the kids trailed outside, most of the first years like Sherlock, staying together. They were all gathered together and lead by the giant Sherlock had seen at the pub and trailing behind him was the boy. Everyone seemed to be whispering Harry Potter's name.

The school was much grander than Sherlock had imagined it to be. It was incredibly large with brightly lit stained glass windows and large towers that loomed above the lake. Arriving inside the school, they were met up with an older woman wearing dark emerald robes and a large hat with a matching green feather.

The room quieted as everyone stood before her.

"Welcome, students," the lady said. "I am Professor McGonagall."

Whispers echoed in the large room. Sherlock looked around him seeing no familiar faces to stand by, but soon the room silenced as a boy drew attention to himself.

"TREAVOR!" The boy who Sherlock had seen on the train came running up to the front of the room, picking up a small toad on the ground.

McGonagall gave a stern look, shaking her head slightly.

"Sorry," the boy mumbled, then returned back into the sea of students.

"You will soon enter these doors and join your fellow classmates," she continued, pointing the large wooden doors behind her. "But first, you will be needed to be sort into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."

More mumbling came about the room.

"I hope to be in Gryffindor," a boy whispered behind Sherlock to another.

Soon, McGonagall lead everyone into the other room where four very long tables sat which were crowded with older students, all of which had their house robes on already. Passing by the Gryffindor table, Sherlock walked by a familiar face. It was the boy he had met on the train. John Watson.

Eventually, Dumbledore, the headmaster of the school, invited all to a new year and McGonagall got straight to the sorting ceremony, which was a bit odd as the way in which one was sorted was through a talking hat. Old and dusty, it had a wrinkled face and sung a song about the houses before it actually did any of the sorting.

Once it was done with the song, a small applause came from the mass of students and McGonagall started to call students up, one by one. Some took much longer to sort than others. Ronald Weasley and Draco Malfoy took only seconds to be sorted into Gryffindor and Slytherin, whereas the talk of the night, Harry Potter took a couple minutes.

Sherlock had read up on all of the houses. He wished to be put into Ravenclaw. He supposed Slytherin wouldn't be terrible, but he really didn't wish to be in the same house as his brother.

"Sherlock Holmes!" McGonagall finally called out.

Sherlock stepped up to the front. He never really enjoyed being in front of a crowd. Sitting down on the small wooded stool, McGonagall placed the funny old hat onto Sherlock's head and almost immediately the hat started talking to him.

_Oooh. How interesting. _The hat's old voice rung out in Sherlock's mind. _Why, you are very interesting indeed. _

"Please," Sherlock mumbled. "It shouldn't be that hard."

The sorting hat didn't reply to that. _Very intellectual, but also very ambitious and cunning. Gryffindor nor Hufflepuff will do you good … Better be Sl-_

"Come on, we all know Mycroft is the Slytherin in the family. I would hate to have to spend my whole bloody year living in the shadow of my idiotic brother," Sherlock told the sorting hat.

_Hmm… Very well. _"Better be . . . Ravenclaw!" The sorting hat shouted.

The Ravenclaw table exploded with cheer as Sherlock shuffled his way past the crowd. The rest of the night would be full of lecture and food.

**Also, I am sorry this chapter is a little shorter than the others.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer - I still don't own any part of Sherlock or Harry Potter. All rights go to it's creators; Moffat, Gatiss, and Rowling.**

**A/N - I hope you enjoy this chapter. Sherlock finally meets Jim Moriarty and Luna Lovegood. Also, sorry that this chapter is short, though, I think that, for this story at least, all of the chapters will average at about 1,500 words. Anyways, comments/reviews are always lovely! Thanks!**

Sherlock sat in the dormitory alone. Most of the other students were hanging out in the common room, talking about Hogwarts and getting tips from the older students, but Sherlock didn't feel like socializing. Instead, Sherlock got out one of his books he had smuggled in. Hogwarts had strict rules about bringing muggle objects into the school, but Sherlock wasn't technically breaking any rules.

It seemed as though every witch and wizard knew what a book was, so the book he had brought wasn't a 'muggle' object. Whether it was prohibited or not, Sherlock enjoyed the rest of his evening reading silently, sitting on his bed and listening to the crackling fireplace in the centre of the room. After all, he wasn't sure when he would get the next chance to read _A Guide to Advanced Deductions. _

Unfortunately for Sherlock, First Years didn't have much of a choice of which classes they wanted to take. Most of the classes were prerequisite. There were the basic classes that paralleled nicely with the muggle classes Sherlock had taken at his old school. Arithmetic's and astronomy paired nicely with mathematics and, well, astronomy.

Potions, on the other hand were much different than the basics of chemistry that Sherlock had known. Sure, there were projects where you mixed together substances to make a new one, but instead of being surrounded by the fundamentals of science, everything had a magical twist.

Not to mention the potions teacher was a bit . . . odd. No one seemed to like Professor Snape. He had a very bland personality and spoke in the most monotone voice possible. He seemed to wear the same clothes everyday and it was as if he didn't know what soap was. His hair was greasy, and he always seemed to be in a bad mood. Sherlock figured he needed to retire.

Though, in Sherlock's opinion, Professor Snape wasn't all that horrible as he taught one of the more interesting classes. Sherlock didn't really care for any of the other classes except for potions. He also seemed to do the best in the class as he succeeded creating the perfect brews for all of the potions. This seemed to put him on the good side of Snape, if of course, Snape even had a good side.

Potions was always interesting. He was in the same class period as Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley, who Sherlock found to be very good friends. Not of his own, of course. Sherlock didn't have friends, and nor did he want any. It was always amusing to watch though, as Hermione, who was the most intellectual of the three, would always pull through making exceptional brews. Then there was Ron, who didn't know what he was doing.

And of course, there was Harry Potter who despised Snape almost as much as Snape despised Harry. Sherlock didn't know why, but from the very beginning, Snape didn't like Harry. And, Sherlock being Sherlock, wanted to figure out why.

Rushing to flying class, Sherlock hurried along the crowded hallways, pushing through all of the students. The passing periods were quite long, being around seven minutes. It was plenty of time to socialize and get to class. Then again, Sherlock didn't have anyone to socialize with, not until a voice rung out through the halls.

"Sherlock Holmes!"

Sherlock stopped, and spun around to see a girl bobbing her head up above the sea of uniformed students. She had bright blonde hair that almost looked like it had silver strands running through it. Along with her Ravenclaw robes, she wore bright pink glasses, each of the lenses a different colour. How odd.

She bounced over to Sherlock, who didn't smile or say anything.

"You're Sherlock, aren't you?" The girl asked. Her voice was high and soft.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "And you are?"

"Luna. Luna Lovegood," said Luna, smiling and sticking out her hand.

Sherlock took it and shook her hand weakly.

The two of them walked over to the courtyard where there were less people.

"So, er, why are we talking again?" Sherlock asked once they settled in the shade.

"Oh, yes. You dropped this," she said, holding up a blue book.

It was the book he had smuggled in. Sherlock snatched the book away and hid it in his robes.

"Oh, don't worry," Luna said. "I won't tell." Then, without noticed, she lifted her black Ravenclaw robes up a bit, showing her mint greet shoes. "I wasn't supposed to bring these, but they ended up being packed anyways."

Sherlock gave a weak smile. He wasn't exactly sure what to say.

"I suppose I could have left them in my bag, but I was afraid the Nargles might be up to no good," Luna continued. "Though, I wear this charm to keep them away, it sometimes doesn't seem to work."

"Nargles?" Sherlock asked. "Aren't those extinct?"

"Perhaps," said Luna, then she smiled. "Well I best be off to class. Take care of that book though!" she said skipping away.

"Nargles," Sherlock mumbled under his breath as he walked back to his class.

Flying class was absolutely pointless. Not to mention Sherlock had trouble just trying to mount a broom. They were incredibly uncomfortable and looked to be ancient. Sherlock didn't understand how they worked either. He knew that they were enchanted and all, but the logistics of a flying broom just didn't stick in his head very well.

Despite Harry Potter being incredibly daft when it comes to potions, he was wicked good at flying. The very first day he was able to properly mount his broom and chase after Draco Malfoy. Of course, he was then given the chance to be the team seeker for the quidditch team.

Everyone seemed to go crazy about quidditch. Especially since Harry was only a First Year. Most of the quidditch games, Sherlock skipped. He saw no point in athletic activities. He never saw the point.

Still trying to figure out the best way to mount his broom, he waited on the ground along with a couple others, including Hermione Granger, who also had difficulties in flying class.

"Up! Up!" Hermione said firmly. The old broomstick just rolled around on the grass. "UP!"

Sherlock continued trying too. "Up. UP!"

It seemed as though Hermione was having more success than Sherlock because at least hers moved. Sherlock's broom only laid firmly planted to the ground and barely wobbled an inch.

"Bloody broom!" Sherlock mumbled.

WHOOSH.

Sherlock looked next to him to see that Hermione had successfully conjured her broom. The groaning, he yelled, "UP!" to the top of his lungs. To Sherlock's surprise, the broom did what it was told. Just, not in the correct way. It indeed flew upwards, but instead of elevating up into his hand, it stood up straight, hitting Sherlock in the head.

"Damn broom!" Sherlock said, pulling his hand up to his face.

Hermione seemed to giggle a bit.

"Oh, do shut up," Sherlock sighed.

Hermione smiled and then joined the rest of the class up in the air.

Sherlock shook his head and tried again before hearing a _swoosh _come from behind him, following with silent footsteps.

"Hello," said a voice. It wasn't Hermione's. He sounded a little older than Sherlock and spoke in, what sounded like, a Dublin accent.

Sherlock turned around. A boy with dark hair, like his own, strode over to Sherlock. He wore green and silver and had a wry grin on his face.

"Jim Moriarty," he said, sticking his hand out.

Sherlock didn't take the hand. He was still bothered at the fact his stupid broom wouldn't cooperate.

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock said gruffly.

"I know," Moriarty said.

Sherlock glanced over at the boy.

"UP!" Sherlock said. Nothing.

"You're doing it wrong," Moriarty said.

"No shit," said Sherlock.

"Hey, I don't think Hooch would like those words."

"Yeah? I don't see her here," Sherlock said, then turned around to the boy. "Fine, what am I doing wrong?"

The boy smiled, then pulled his hand up to his mouth in a 'thinking' position. This of course seemed to be sarcastic.

"Hold your hand out further away," Moriarty instructed.

As much as Sherlock hated being told what to do, he did as Moriarty said, sticking his arm out a little more.

"Then try saying it without sounding so aggravated."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _That's what he's been doing! _

"Up!"

The broom came floating up to Sherlock's hand. Sherlock turned around, but Moriarty must have already flown away. Instead he saw Madam Hooch standing, smiling.

"Good! You can finally join the rest of the class," She said, then flew away.

_Moriarty. Jim Moriarty the Slytherin. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer - Again, I do not own any of the characters in either series, Sherlock or Harry Potter. All rights go to their amazing creators; Moffat, Gatiss, and Rowling.**

**A/N - I think I am starting to enjoy writing this much more now that I've got things sorted out. Sherlock and Luna talk and Sherlock meets Molly Hooper. Anyway. It's always nice to hear from you guys, the reader, too. Feel free to leave a review. Alright. Please do enjoy.**

The next day, Sherlock awoke to a loud banging noise coming from the common room. Rolling out of bed and lazily slipped his clothes on for the day and lamely went down to see what was going on. To his surprise, he saw no one. The dimly lit fire was still crackling, and books laid scattered about the room. Yesterday was Friday, meaning the Ravenclaws had a massive study session. Sherlock, of course didn't attend. He much rather study on his own, away from all of those silly distractions.

Sherlock dug in his pockets trying to find his watch, which had accidently gone off in the middle of astronomy yesterday. Fortunately for him, the astronomy teacher didn't know exactly what was making the loud beeping noise, so instead ignored it until it went off. Reading the small digital numbers, Sherlock figured it was about time for breakfast, so he hurried on down to the great hall.

Looking around, he saw a couple people scattered around the cavernous room. The ceiling was a bright sky blue. Ghostly white and fluffy clouds were scattered here and there, but it obviously meant the day would be a nice day. That also meant flying class outside. Again.

Shuffling over to the Ravenclaw table, he sat down at the far end away from all of the other groups of students, grabbing a single piece of toast and some juice. Though, interrupting the spectacular breakfast Sherlock was having, a slight tap on the shoulder came from behind him.

Sherlock turned his head to see the sandy haired boy he had met on the train.

"Hello," John said, smiling.

"Hi." Sherlock really wasn't exactly sure why he was over at the Ravenclaw table. The Gryffindor table was a table and a half away from the Ravenclaws. "I think you've got the wrong table," Sherlock said blankly.

John laughed. "Why do you think that?"

"Aren't we supposed to sit with our houses?" Sherlock asked, then finished off the last of his juice.

"Well, I don't think they specifically said we had to sit with our houses," John suggested, shrugging. "Though, I just came over to invite you to the next Quidditch match. Well I suppose not 'invite'. Just wanted to see if you were going."

Sherlock frowned a bit. "I don't go to sports activities."

John shrugged. "Well, I just thought I'd ask. You seem a bit isolated from everyone else. Thought you might enjoy a bit of fresh air."

With that, John walked off to the Gryffindor table. Sherlock watched as multiple greeted John with a smile, patting him on the back and talking about what was new in the wizarding world news; the _Daily Prophet_. Sherlock had picked up a copy of the _Daily Prophet _once. It all sounded like a load of rubbish, but then again, if he were to walk up to any muggle on the street, they would probably think magic was a load of rubbish.

Finished with breakfast, Sherlock walked off to the library, hoping there would be less people crowding the room. Luckily, he guessed correctly. There was almost no one in the library, and for good measure too, because at a lonely desk beside one of the many grand and dusty book shelves sat an older boy wearing green and silver colours.

"Mycroft," Sherlock hissed, walking past his brother.

"Oh, good to see you, Brother Mine," Mycroft said, not looking up from his book. "How's the first week treating you?"

"It was going fine _until _I bumped into _you_," Sherlock sneered. "Honestly, though. I thought I might not have to see you for the whole school year. That would have been great!"

Mycroft didn't seem to listen to Sherlock. Instead he shut his book and said, "Well, I have been watching you-"

"Perv. What the hell?" Sherlock said defensively.

Mycroft threw his hands in the air. "Hey, I'm not the one who ran away and scared mum and dad half to death."

Sherlock shook his head. "_Oh, _so now your doing mum and dad's bidding? Also, that was over a year ago," Sherlock added.

Mycroft frowned, walking over to the book shelf and putting away the book. Even though Sherlock had seen plenty of times, the books floating up to their proper place, Sherlock always thought it was amazing how magic worked.

"Well, Brother Dear," Mycroft said, returning to the empty table, "I have seen that you haven't really been – social. And despite my true morals, I do believe it would be good for you to have someone to lean against, you know?" Mycroft said, brushing by Sherlock and patting him on the back.

Swiveling around, Sherlock called after Mycroft, "Since when were _friends _important?"

Sherlock was lucky the Quidditch match was today. It meant most of the students would be out of his way for the next thirty minutes to an hour or so. It really depended on how good the seekers were, and judging by today's match, Sherlock guessed it would last about thirty-three minutes. Slytherin, Sherlock hear, was a bloody good team, but so was Gryffindor. Not to mention, Gryffindor had a new seeker; the famous Harry Potter.

Sherlock found a nice spot near the lake, outside, under an old and knotted tree. It bent in a funny direction and it's roots looked as though they were twisted around in a knot. Underneath it, a cool wind blew, making the leaves rattle against each other. Despite what his older brother thought, Sherlock did get fresh air now and then. He just preferred to be alone while going outside.

Sherlock had done research before about what might be 'wrong' with him. All of the kids at school used to make fun of him for being so introverted, but upon his hours of research, he had concluded that he was something between an extreme introvert and sociopath. Sherlock deemed himself as a high-functioning sociopath. Not only that, but it had a nice ring to it.

Reading the last couple of chapters of his book, _A Guide to Advanced Deductions_, he wished he had brought another issue. Maybe something about physics or chemistry. That would do him good. Shutting his book, he sighed and looked around him, standing up and brushing himself off.

"Hello."

Sherlock glanced up in the slightest seeing two bare feet in front of him. Looking up, he saw Luna Lovegood standing a few metres away. Instead of the normal uniform, she wore a bright blue knitted sweater and yellow ochre denim shorts with black legging underneath. She wore the same warm smile she had the first time the two met.

"Hello, Luna," Sherlock said. He sounded a little friendlier than before, but Luna could see through the façade.

"Oh, that's alright if you don't want to talk. I was just out walking about. It's very pretty out here. By the lake," she said in her soft voice, turning around.

_Go with her you idiot! Socialize! Do something productive! _

Mycroft's annoying voice popped into Sherlock's head. Even though it was mildly annoying, it was always so persuasive sounding.

"Shut up," Sherlock said quietly, but it must've not been quiet enough because Luna stopped in the middle of her tracks.

Turning around, the peculiar girl tilted her head. "You alright?" She asked.

"Sorry, I'm fine," said Sherlock quietly, but then cleared his throat. "Can I come with you? I've really got nothing else to do."

Luna smiled for a bit. Smiling must be her favourite thing to do, because Sherlock didn't see how a person could smile that much.

"Oh, sure!" said Luna.

She turned around and Sherlock caught up with her, walking down the dirt path.

"So – er – what happened to your shoes?" Sherlock asked as they walked through the forest.

"I really couldn't say, though, I have a particular feeling the Nargles have something to do with it," she said simply, gazing up at the tall canopy of leaves, but the two soon glanced over in front of them to see a red headed girl running up to the two.

"Luna!" She said, trotting up.

"Molly Hooper!" Luna exclaimed, smiling.

_Great. More people. _

"Hello," the girl named Molly said. Just like Luna, she wore a warm smile and seemed to be over joyed. "You will never guess what happened," the girl said.

Luna shrugged.

"Someone set Professor Snape on fire!" The girl gave out a giggle.

Luna laughed too. "Who would do that, though?" she asked, a little more serious than Molly.

"No one really knows. Luckily, no one got hurt, though," she said. "Anyways, who's this?" Molly glanced over to Sherlock, who glanced over to Luna.

"This is Sherlock Holmes. First Year Ravenclaw. I met him a couple days ago. He left his book in the common room," Luna said.

Sherlock gave an awkward smile. "Hello," he said.

"Hi." She stuck out her hand. "Molly Hooper. First Year, Hufflepuff."

Sherlock took her hand weakly. He was still getting used to the shaking-hand-thing.

"Molly is in my potions class," Luna explained. "She's awfully good at it too. She could probably whip up any remedy in a split second."

"Well, I wouldn't say that. Some potions take much longer than others, especially if you don't want to accidentally poison someone," she said.

Sherlock stayed silent, only giving a weak smile. Luna looked up at him, then tapped Molly on the shoulder.

"I think Sherlock has things on his mind right now. Maybe we should go," she said.

Molly smiled, tucking a loose strand of red hair behind her ear. "Alright, let's go then. Nice meeting you, Sherlock."

The two walked away, leaving Sherlock to himself.


End file.
